Alphabet
by marecalore
Summary: Series of one shots using the letters of the alphabet. Not all existing within the same universe.
1. Affection

**A** is for **Affection**

 **AU. No Scarlet Guard, no rebellion, no betrayal. Mare and Maven are happily engaged to be married in four months.**

As is it turns out, Archaeon during the wintertime is freezing. Now, Mare knows cold, knows the way that chill can creep into your bones and freeze your limbs. Yet, somehow, she'd imagined that the royals, who can literally create heat at their fingertips, would take some sort of preventative measures. Like proper goddamn heating.

Wrapped in her heavy coat, which is, naturally, an atrocious shade of purple, she slowly waddles down the hallways of Whitefire Palace. Her first destination is the kitchens, where, if she's lucky, she'll be able to wheedle some hot chocolate out of the aging cook. Bertha bears a soft spot for Maven, and a consequence, had also warmed her heart towards his fiancée.

Sentinels pass her in the corridor, most of them shooting her odd looks, most likely because she's wearing snow boots and a puffy coat indoors. She scowls back at them, forgetting that she's supposed to be a lady. It's not her fault that she's not packing a hundred pounds of muscle as insulation against the bitter cold.

The kitchens are warm and messy, a complete taboo for any royal to visit. Bertha lets out a little groan as she catches sight of Mare, setting down her heavy rolling pins to turn on her with an affectionate frown, "Not you too. I just had your fiancée in here asking for a cuppa hot chocolate. I've a lunch to prepare, Your Highness."

As she grumbles on, she reaches forward to the already waiting steaming mug, topping it off with two perfect white marshmallows. "Thank you, Bertha," Mare says in a lilting voice, "What would I do without you?"

The nearly sixty-year-old cook snorts, ushering her out of the kitchen, "Starve, no doubt."

Hot chocolate in hand, Mare makes her way to the grand library on the first floor. She'd struggled embarrassingly with her letters when she'd first arrived at the palace, but with Maven's coaching, she had developed a love for reading, especially on snowy, lazy days like the one that now stretches out before her.

Standing before the library, Mare pushes open the tall French doors, a smile lighting her face instantly at figure stretched out on one of the plush armchairs near the windows. Maven looks content, and far too good for someone wearing a lumpy sweater. In his concentration, he doesn't even notice as she carefully approaches his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck.

To her surprise, he freezes instantly, his entire body stiffening as he grabs her arms in an almost bruising grip, far tighter than he's ever held her before. She gasps, and he turns around abruptly, his hands loosening and falling away.

"Mare?" Maven's blue eyes are filled with concern, "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He stands up from the chair, his hand on her cheek as he searches for any indication of pain.

"No," sensing his guilt she reaches out to touch his arm gently, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He exhales loudly, running a hand through his already messy hair in a characteristic gesture. "No. It's my fault. I'm sorry…I'm not just used to be touched like that. Or really at all."

Her heart aches unbearably for him in that moment. Maven hardly ever spoke of his childhood, but his passing comments were enough for her to piece together what his younger life had been like. Mare herself had never had things like a warm bed or enough food on the table, but at least she'd grown up knowing she was loved, in a house where kisses and hugs were exchanged frequently and without qualms. Maven had grown up ignored and cast aside by his father, and although Elara had loved her son to the best of her ability, the ice queen had never cared much for physical affection. How much love had Maven been denied his entire life, to be startled by as something as simple as a squeeze on the shoulder?

"When was the last time you were hugged, Maven?" Mare asks, her face pulling into a frown, "Before you met me, I mean."

His mouth twitches upwards slightly, no doubt recalling the time she'd suddenly thrown herself at him after he'd helped her sneak out of the palace to see her family. The mirth dies quickly as bitterness clouds his icy blue eyes.

"When I was three or four, I think. I had an ear infection and the only way that Mother could calm me down as to take me into her arms and rock me."

How did that feel? To go fourteen years without the feeling of someone's arms around you? What did that do to a person, especially if you had to watch your brother bask in the pride and love you'd always been denied?

"That's not right, Maven," Mare swallows the lump in her throat, and rushes forward, wrapping her arms around his middle. Maven makes a shocked sort of sound before his arms go around her, bringing her close. She's feels tiny in his embrace, her five foot three inches a laughable measurement to his six one.

Moments later, she pulls back, reaching up on her tiptoes to rest her palm against his smooth cheek. He's so handsome, even more so than when they first met nearly a year ago. His face had been all hard, cold lines then, bitterness and resentment his most frequent expressions. In eleven months, he'd changed so drastically, all the sharp edges slowly being filed away by her love and friendship. The darkness is still there in him, as it is in her. Neither of them belong where they come from, something essential is broken in them both. The only way they fit is together.

"You will never go another day without love as long as I'm alive, Maven Calore," she says fiercely, bringing his gaze down to meet hers, "When we are together, **affection** will never be rare."


	2. Birthday

**B** is for **Birthday.**

 **AU. No Scarlet Guard, no rebellion, no betrayal. Takes place five months after Mare first arrives at the palace.**

It's only been an hour and a half since the start of the ball and Maven is already on his fourth glass of champagne.

Ordinarily, he doesn't drink more than the innocent sip or two of wine during a toast. Having a father for whom alcohol is a sixth food group will do that to you. Today, however, he finds that the slightly fuzzy warmth is the only way he'll make it through another conversation.

Maven has always hated his birthday balls. In fact, he's always despised his birthday in general. Although he'd like to pretend otherwise, he knows it probably has to do with the fact that out of all eighteen of them, his father has only managed to wish him happy birthday on two occasions.

As a child, he'd spent many of his birthdays crying in his mother's arms, asking why his father didn't love him. As he grew older, he'd just learned to disguise the hurt. By now, he hardly even notices it.

Numb. What a perfect word to describe how he feels about his father these days.

Maven takes a long sip of his champagne, draining the tall flute easily. His cheeks are flushed slightly, his hair rumpled, his eyes much too bright. Still, his state is nothing compared to the king's. Tiberias, who'd spent the entire afternoon locked in his study with a bottle of whiskey, is laughing loudly with a group of disgusted-looking nobles, most of whom probably think he's a drunken idiot.

It's an opinion Maven holds himself.

Suddenly, there's a presence at his side. He grits his teeth, expecting to turn and find yet another over-eager noble with a birthday message that they truly don't mean. Instead, he's pleasantly surprised to find Mare standing next to him.

She looks beautiful, although she probably wouldn't believe him if he told her. Her dress is one he hasn't seen before, a strapless, dark purple number with a huge, billowy skirt. It's adorned with thousands of jewels, as is her hair, which is lifted into a complicated-looking knot. In fact, looking closely, even her skin seems to glitter.

Mare says nothing for a few moments, though he can feel her gaze drifting from the surely agonized expression on his face to the empty flute in his hand. Despite knowing each other for a mere few months, she can read him better than anyone else. When she opens her mouth, he braces himself for a line of questioning. To his shock, she only slips her arm into his and asks, "Do you want to step outside?"

Leaving his own birthday ball seems terribly rude, but Cal is smoothing his suit, looking ready to begin his speech, and Maven would rather swallow poison than listen to his older brother spew fake compliments in front of all the High Houses. Five months ago, the brothers had been close. These days, they barely even speak. Maven knows that anything about himself coming out of his brother's mouth can't be truthful.

"Sure."

It might be his birthday, but no one sure as hell is looking at him and Mare as they shove through the crowd, making a beeline for the doors. Once they make it to the hallway, he can finally breathe again.

"You looked like you were dying in there," she says, her lips twitching with amusement, "I thought you could use an escape."

"My hero," he says dryly, and because she really does look stunning in that dress, leans over to press a quick kiss on her lips. She blushes slightly, causing his heart to stutter in his chest. God, what is she doing to him? It's Cal and his father who have troubling controlling their emotions, who lose their temper at the drop of the hat, and mourn every year the anniversary of Coriane's death rolls around. He and his mother are almost robot-like, to the point where he had come to believe that he was incapable of feeling _anything._

Mare has completely transformed his life.

Last year, on December 15th, his birthday wish had been for death. Instead, he'd been handed the opposite. Mare Barrow makes him feel more alive than anything before.

She looks like she's about to ask him what he's thinking, so he quickly takes her hand, "Do you want to come up to my quarters?"

"Being alone with a man before our wedding night?" Mare pretends to be appalled, "What would Lady Blonos say?"

"I won't tell her if you don't," he tugs her hand, pulling her along with him as he moves towards the elevators. The Sentinels have all been posted at the main entrances, and the halls are blissfully empty as they move towards his rooms.

She crashes onto his bed the moment she passes through the doors, already removing her shoes. It's a position she's assumed a dozen times before, but the champagne must really be getting to his head, because he stands in the doorway, thinking about nothing besides how much he likes the way she looks in his bed.

She looks up, blushing again at what must be a leering look on his face. "Come here," she says quietly, holding out her hand. He takes it, it's small and warm in his own, and allows her to pull him close.

"Why do you hate your birthday so much?"

If it were anyone else, he'd scoff and deny it. But this is Mare, and her expression is hopeful and loving, her gaze a silent prompt.

"In all my eighteen years, my father has managed to wish me a happy birthday exactly two times. The first time was when I was four, and even then Mother is the one who reminded him. The second was last year, and that was only because he was visiting at the front and he couldn't exactly ignore me in front of all the generals." He takes a shuddering breath, "Did you know that he takes Cal on a trip for each of his birthdays? Every single one. And he has never even asked me to come along." He hangs his head, "I hate my birthday because each one is a reminder of how little I actually matter. How insignificant I am, even to my own father."

He shakes his head, embarrassed suddenly, "Look at me. I'm complaining that Daddy doesn't remember my birthday when you've spent your entire life dealing with things like starving to death and conscription. I guess I really am the spoiled, shallow prince everyone thinks I am, huh?"

"Shut up, Maven," Mare says sharply, her fingers on his chin as she lifts his head to meet her gaze, "Your father is an idiot for not realizing what a brilliant son he has. Don't apologize for his shortcomings, and don't you dare say that your issues don't matter when compared to mine. Your problems matter, Maven. _You_ matter."

"Not to my father," he shakes his head, feeling horrified as tears well in his eyes, "Not to most people."

"You matter to me, Maven. More than anything else. Don't you know that?" She speaks earnestly, her own eyes glittering with tears, "One day you'll realize just how amazing you really are, Maven Calore. You have a light inside of you. No one, not your father, not those stupid, ignorant Silver elites, can diminish it."

She threads her fingers through his hair, drawing him down into her warm embrace. His mouth against her neck, he whispers, "I love you."

He's never said that before. Not to anyone. He can hardly believe he let it slip out now, even if it is the truth.

He can feel her smile against his cheek, "I love you too, Maven. Happy Birthday."

Pulling back a little bit, he slants his head down to kiss her. She tastes like champagne and chocolate cake, and he can't get enough. Their tongues tangle, breathing coming faster, and her hesitant hands slide down his chest, coming to rest of the last button of his shirt.

"Do you want-"

He kisses her even more fiercely, hoping the answer will suffice. He wants her more than anything.

She undoes the buttons slowly, her hands trembling as she pulls the shirt from his shoulders and casts it aside. He'd expected her to be one to take charge in bed, like she does in so many other aspects of life, but she's shy and blushing under his watchful gaze and wandering hands. Oddly enough, it only makes him want her more.

Her dress is cast aside after much fumbling and laughter, leaving him in trousers and her only in undergarments. He's a teenage boy. He's thought about sex, of course, and he's thought about sex with her. But she is unlike anything out of his fantasies. Under the dim light from his lamp, she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're lovely," he says, kissing her hard on the mouth, "I love you."

"So are you," she says, "I hope one day you'll see that."

After that, they don't speak much anymore. All their remaining clothes disappear, and for the next few minutes, he thinks only in the gasps leaving her mouth and her warm body beneath his. His demons and self-pity fall away and he loses himself in her. When they crash over that edge together, he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

Moments later, wrapped up in the sheets with Mare tucked into his chest, he makes his newest birthday wish.

A lifetime with her.


	3. Cut

**C** is for **Cut**

 **Takes place after Glass Sword. Warning: self harm, language.**

The water is cold when he steps in but it sizzles and burns moments later, trailing over his scorching skin.

He goes through the motions robotically, running a shampoo-covered hand through his messy black hair. It's overgrown; he thinks absently, hanging over onto his forehead and blocking his sight. And then he remembers his mother fussing over his hair before Queenstrial, demanding he see a barber, and he can't breathe.

His mother will never be around to remind him to get a haircut again.

There's a strange feeling inside of him: pain and anguish and a little bit of relief that is overshadowed by tremendous guilt. His mother may not have been maternal but she had tried. That's more than he can say for a lot of people in his life.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out memories of amber eyes and amber whiskey. His fingers brush his jaw and he realizes that it has been days since he's shaved. He reaches blindly through the shower door towards the counter, swiping the razor on its surface.

Suddenly, he's aware of how silent the bathroom is and how sharp the blade is against his skin. He is completely alone, a rarity these days, and he hates it. Because alone means quiet and quiet means time to think.

He's been thinking a lot lately, of a girl with lightning in her touch and red blood in her veins. Of the adoration in her eyes as she'd looked at him in the back row of a darkened theatre. He clings to the memory for all she has for him now is fear and disgust and hatred. Sometimes, when he's lying alone in bed at night, those are the only feelings he has for himself too.

As an unwanted son and the perpetual shadow to a flame, Maven knows what it means to feel unworthy, inadequate, undeserving. He would never admit it now but Mare Barrow is the single person in his life who never made him feel that way.

 _Stop being such a coward, Maven._ He hears his father sneer in his ear, flashing back to a day nearly thirteen years ago when he'd been too afraid to sleep alone in the dark. _Calore men can't afford to be weak._ Four years old and trapped in the dark confines of a room for the first time, he'd ended up wetting his pants that night. The familiar shame courses through his body, turning his blood to ice.

 _I will never make the mistake of loving you again._ Those words hurt more than anything his father could ever say. Mare had loved him, and he'd thrown it away. And for what? The never-ending loneliness and guilt that haunts him every single day of his life.

Idiot. Coward. Weakling. Liar. Murderer.

I'm not any of those things, he wants to scream but he can't because he is. Tears blur his vision and he can practically hearing his mother calling him pathetic. He opens his mouth to tell her he's sorry and then he remembers she's dead and how miserably he has failed her.

The Red Rebellion is growing. The High Houses are on the brink of civil war. The country is falling apart and all he can think about is how he can make the dark haired girl in his dungeon love him again.

Cal probably would've known what to do, he thinks bitterly. He would have jumped in and saved the day like everyone always expected him to do. Like when Maven split open his knee on a dusty screw while playing in the gardens and Cal carried him back to palace on his shoulders. Huddled in the corner of his shower with a blade against his skin, Maven Calore admits that he misses his big brother.

He hates himself. God, he hates himself so fucking much.

The razor, which he's still turning over in the palm of his hand, stings his skin suddenly and he glances down to see silver blood oozing from a tiny nick. The smell fills his nostrils and he wants to vomit. But the pain had felt good. It had felt like releasing some of the pressure built up inside of him.

Coriane Jacos had slit her wrists, he remembers suddenly. He wonders if she had felt the way he did now. He slides the blade down the skin of his forearm, making a large **cut** in his porcelain skin. He doesn't retch this time, instead watches in morbid fascination as the water at his feet runs silver. He lifts the blade again, ready to inflict more damage, when a knock at the door interrupts him.

"Your Highness?" He groans at the sound of his secretary's voice through the locked door, "Your first meeting begins in fifteen minutes."

He holds his bleeding arm under the hot water, not even flinching as it burns the small but deep incision. When he's drying off, he wonders, if his bothersome employee hadn't interrupted, would he have killed himself?

Yes, he decides, and then gets out to begin his day.

* * *

Fifty-three people.

He holds a conversation with fifty-three people throughout the day and exactly zero notice the raw, uncovered cut under his sleeve. Surrounded by more people than he ever has been before, he feels so goddamn lonely.

He goes by the Bowl of Bones after dinner on impulse. It's likely she's asleep or sulking and he's probably the last person she wants to see. He doesn't blame her; sometimes he flinches away from the mirror.

He grips the bar as he nears, peering through the metal into the cell. It's hard to make out anything in the darkness so he concludes she must be asleep and begins to turn away.

"What is that?" He almost starts at the sound of her hoarse voice below him. He draws up a small flame with his right hand and stares down at her slumped form on the ground.

"What?" He asks, forgetting to sound like a captor speaking to his prisoner.

"On your arm." He shivers as her fingers brush his skin lightly. He wants to laugh because of course it would be her who finds his vulnerabilities.

"I hate who I am." He says in response, his voice hollow and defeated.

She's quiet too until she speaks suddenly, "I think that any sane person would be delighted that her enemy tried to kill himself. But I'm not. I never could let go of the boy I thought you were. The boy I fell in love with. And now I can't bring myself to hate who you are because I see myself in you. There is something broken inside you the same way there's something broken inside me."

He lets out a choked up sob, leaning his head against the bars. "I wanted to be him," he says, "I wanted to be the man you thought I was so badly."

She should back away. She should kick him for daring to come so close to her and snarl insults at him. But she's never been good at doing what's expected of her. She gets to her feet and through the bars, pulls him towards her. His head ends up clumsily jammed into her collarbone as she threads her fingers through his too long hair. "Don't ever do it again," she whispers, "Don't ever hurt yourself. You brought yourself down to this level and you can bring yourself up again."

He finds he's not too inclined to follow the rules either.

So the king sobs in the arms of his prisoner and for a small moment in time, she lets him.

 **Thanks so much to the people who reviewed/favorited this story! It really means a lot. I do have the next three chapters already written, but before I post them, I want to try and get at least five reviews just to see what people think of the story. Thanks for reading,and please review! :)**


	4. Dark

**D** is for **Dark.**

 **AU. No Scarlet Guard, no rebellion, no betrayal. Mare and Maven's wedding night. Warning: some language.**

Maven collapses against the sheets, his chest, slicked with sweat, heaving. It had been nearly two and a half hours since the door to their new chambers had slammed shut, and this is the first time he's been able to catch his breath.

"That was incredible," Mare says next to him, her breathing coming in hard gasps, "I thought the sex was amazing before, but you've actually managed to outdo yourself."

He laughs quietly, wrapping arm around her waist and tugging her close, "You weren't too bad yourself."

She falls quiet then, probably already drifting off to sleep. The clock next to their bedside tells him that it's almost three in the morning, but he's never felt more awake in his entire life.

"You're my wife." He says in a hushed, almost revered tone, like he can scarcely believe it. Somehow, he'd managed to marry this beautiful, brilliant, captivating human being. He gets to be with her for the rest of his life. It all still feels like a dream.

"And you're my husband." Her voice is sleepy and amused. "I mean, that was what the whole ceremony today was about, wasn't it?"

"I don't know," he brings his mouth close to her ear, "I could barely register what was going on with you in that dress."

Her laugh is as warm as the rest of her. He splays his hand across her ribs, tangling their legs together. He could spend the rest of his life in this bed with her, no complaints.

"It's late," she says after a while, shifting her head from where she's using his arm as a makeshift pillow to look at him, "We should get some sleep if we want to make it to the breakfast reception on time. The High Houses hate me enough already. The last thing we need is to be late."

"Screw the High Houses," he mumbles against her neck, "All I want is you."

"Too bad your mother doesn't share those sentiments," she says dryly, gently moving his hand from her skin so she can sit up to turn off the light. As her fingers close around the lamp switch, his entire body coils tight, muscles clenches. She notices his sudden shift in attitude immediately, and within minutes she's hovering above him, her beautiful face etched with worry.

"Maven?"

It still amazes him; the way she can touch his soul with just one look. He's absolutely sure that his entire existence was created for her. There is no other woman in the world with whom he belongs so completely.

"I'm scared of the **dark.** "

He is twenty-years old and nursing the same aversion as a toddler. He feels like an idiot, but Mare's soft hands stroking along his cheek keeps him from retreating to that dark place of shame and self-hatred.

"So was I," she admits, shrugging her bare shoulders, "Until I was about five years old, I couldn't even sleep alone. I used a nightlight, this really crappy one I had to steal from the marketplace, until I was fourteen."

"But I'll be twenty-one in three months," he says unhappily, "And I still can't manage to sleep without a lamp on."

She says nothing, but her fingers trace his jawbone and his lips, prompting him to continue. Swallowing hard, he indulges her. Confiding in Mare has never been difficult; when it comes to her, everything is as easy as breathing.

"When I was younger, I used to have nightmares about a creature living under my bed. It was the size of an infant, covered in black scales. It had bright red eyes and huge fangs, with claws the length of my arms. I used to dream of those claws grabbing my ankles and dragging me under the bed when the lights went out. Mother used to wake up to me screaming like bloody murder. Eventually, she started keeping the lamp on or leaving my door open at night." He fiddles with a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding her eyes, "And then, when I was four, my monster took on a different form."

Her body tenses, as though she can sense where his story is going. It makes sense; most of his inner torment has one source.

"I was almost five, and Cal was eight. Mother was supposed to come with us, but she was recovering from an illness so she decided to spend another night at Whitefire and join us in Summerton the following day. I begged to stay with her, but he wouldn't let me. He thought I was too attached to her. I needed to toughen up, he said." At least his father had cared back then. "We didn't reach the palace until it was late. Cal had fallen asleep on the way and he carried him upstairs and put him to bed. I was sleepy as well, and one of the servants helped me up the stairs into bed. I was just beginning to drift off when my door opened and he poked his head inside. It was disgusting, Mare. He smelled like a liquor cabinet had toppled over onto him."

She presses her lips to his shoulder, her body trembling from anger. Her hate for his father still shocked him at times; no one had ever defended him before.

"He sneered when he saw the light on beside my bed. He could barely stand he was so drunk. He asked why the lamp was on. He used to terrify me when he was drunk, so I just blurted out the truth. Do you know what he did, Mare? He fucking laughed. He'd never been so mean before, not even to Mother. When he came over to the bed, I thought he might strike me. Instead, he unplugged the lamp, tucked it under his arm, and walked right out the door. In the doorway, he turned around and said, 'Calore men need to be strong. You're nothing but a sniveling coward.' After that, he slammed the door and I was left in complete darkness. I was shaking so badly that I couldn't even get up and turn on the closet light. I kept picturing talons digging into my ankles as I was dragged under the bed. I didn't sleep a wink the entire night. At some point, I wet my pants from fear."

His voice trembles, "He didn't remember a damn thing the next morning. But I never got over my fear."

Mare's voice is shaky, "I hate him so much for the way he treated you, Maven. No child deserves what he did to you." She runs a hand over his bare chest, "But I want you to know that there's nothing to fear in the darkness now that you have me. I won't let anything take you from me, Maven. If some scaly, fanged monster wants to come and get you, well, he's going to have the fight of his life on his hands."

He laughs weakly, but presses a fierce kiss to her forehead.

He doesn't need a lamp when she is here to light up the darkness.

 **This one's a little bit of fluff and heavy/dark together. Reviews welcome. Enjoy!**


	5. Electricity

**E** is for **Electricity**

 **AU. Maven's betrayal never happened and they are still engaged.**

For the first time in the six months since she's arrived in the palace, Mare finds time that's not strictly regimented by Queen Elara.

Julian had begged off their lesson by citing a headache but Mare had seen the tumbler of whiskey he was holding behind his back. If this was last week, she might have called him out on it. But she'd since gathered from Elara's even more tense moods and the murmurings of the servants that the anniversary of Coriane's death is nearing so she lets the mourning brother have his time alone.

As a result, she's left to wander the halls of Whitefire Palace on her own. She finds it more confining than the Hall of Sun, with its stifling décor and extravagant pillars, but its undeniably more fun to explore with never-ending passageways and hidden doors. She's strolling down one said corridor when a strong hand closes around her elbow.

She stifles a scream, whirling around to face her attacker. "Maven!" She says in exasperation, "You scared me."

"Sorry." He wears an amused smile that she doesn't get to see too often so she lets it slide. "You're not in Lessons?"

"Julian wasn't feeling up to it," she shrugs and something dark flickers in her betrothed's eyes. She feels a stir of unease; the relations between Maven and Julian were still so tense that she often felt caught between two worlds. She loved Maven but Julian had become like a father to her.

"You up for some training?" He asks casually, drawing her out of her thoughts. She gives him a dubious look, "I thought you hated training."

"I just hate it when we have an audience. I don't mind it so much on my own. Besides, you need the practice if you ever want to beat Evangeline in a duel."

She sneers, "I could've beat her that day and you know it. If only she hadn't cut me."

"Sure," he says, teasing her.

Her eyes gleam with determination and she stands up straighter to meet his gaze. "Why don't _you_ take me on and we'll see who's the real winner?"

He has to hide a smile at that because she looks adorable with her flushed cheeks and tiny frame squaring up against his own. Then, he feels a little nervous because he'd been watching her at every training session. She is good and he has no doubt that she could easily take Cal's vicious bride-to-be in a fair match.

"You're on." He challenges because he loves the way she's looking at him and spending the entire afternoon with her sounds much better than sitting in on one of his father's tax councils.

They change together in the small room outside the training facilities, leaving their shirts and trousers and socks on the floor in favor of tight suits. They'd consummated their relationship on his eighteenth birthday but he still feels a shudder run through him at the sight of her in just undergarments. He doesn't want to fight all of a sudden; he wants to spend an afternoon wrapped around her in bed, shutting out the rest of the world.

She catches his expression and shakes her head at him teasingly. "Not until you've proven your worth," she says over her shoulder as she walks into the room, "Maybe then you can claim your reward."

He's never moved faster before. Once the door is closed behind them, he immediately hits the button that puts up the makeshift arena lest they send a stray fireball or lightning bolt hurling into the expensive equipment. Before he's even turned around, there's a bolt of **electricity** at his feet nearly knocking him to the ground.

He faces her, a menacing look on his face. "You're not playing fair," he growls and she smirks back at him.

"What are you going to do about it?"

The flame he throws at her actually catches her off guard for half a second before she responds in kind. They continue their strange dance, playing with different elements to see who comes out on top. There's a flush in Mare's cheeks as she dodges a hit and she calls out playfully, "That all you got?"

His jaw set, he releases the biggest inferno he can make and Mare's eyes go round as it actually makes contact with her smooth skin. He's by her side in a second, pulling her hand away from the injury. "Is it bad? I'm so sorry, Mare, I got carried away-"

He sees her gleeful smile a beat too late and suddenly the arena is plunged into darkness and there's a whoosh of movement by his wrist. When the lights flicker back on, she's standing three feet away wearing a satisfied smirk.

"I can't believe I ever doubted your acting skills," he says, shaking his head. "Now you're really in for it, little lightning girl." He lifts his hand to prove his point but instead of unleashing the raging inferno he plans to, nothing happens. His eyes flick to his wrist and he realizes the little brat had stolen his flame maker.

If this was in the middle of Training and Cal and Instructor Arven were sitting off to the side, he'd be angry and humiliated. He likely would have skulked to the sidelines and not spoken to her for the entire day. But now, he just feels incredible pride for the woman who's going to be his wife. Queenstrial may have decreed that Evangeline Samos is the noblest lady in the land but anyone with half a brain can see it's really Mare.

"Clever," he admits, "But now we're going to have to wrestle for it and when it comes to semantics, we already know who's physically stronger."

She laughs as he makes a dive for her, sending them both tumbling to the ground. She ends up flat on her back underneath him while he has her hands pinned to the floor, hips brushing. Her breath fans across his lips when she speaks, "Even though I won, you want to claim your reward early?"

"This isn't over yet," he promises before pressing his lips firmly to hers. She tangles her hands in his hair, responding eagerly. She presses her body against his and one of his hands trails up her leg…

"What is going on in here?" They both jerk in surprise at the stern voice. Blushing madly, Mare ducks her head behind Maven's shoulder as he faces their instructor.

"We were putting a little extra training in and got carried away," he explains smoothly, "Our apologies, sir. It won't happen again."

"You bet it won't," the white haired man mumbles irritably, "Just wait till your father hears about this, Prince Maven. And Lady Blonos!"

"Not Lady Blonos," Mare says in a hushed voice, eyes wide.

They can hear Arven leaving the area, muttering about errant teenagers and their wild hormones. They wait exactly two point five seconds before bursting into laughter.

And it's right then, with their limbs tangled together and their breath mingling on the floor of the training center, that Maven realizes that Mare Barrow has become much more than a ploy in ending the Red Rebellion, more than a fiancée even.

She's his best friend. Which means he'll let her have her silly victory.

Just this once.

 **I hope you all like this chapter; it's another cute and fluffy one. For those of you who enjoyed chapter three and want to see some darker stuff set after Glass Sword, I think you'll find what I have in mind for 'G' and 'H' to your liking. Also, if you want to see Cal playing a bigger part, he's a major character in the chapter after the next. I've pretty much mapped out the main ideas of the rest of the chapters, and I think it'll be an equal mix of some of these short, happy ones and dark, angsty chapters like "Cut", so hopefully everyone who reads this story will find something to their liking. Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read my work, and please don't forget to review. I really appreciate it! :)**


	6. Fear

**F** is for **Fear**

 **AU. No Scarlet Guard, no rebellion, no betrayal. Mare and Maven are married.**

There are mice living within the old, wallpapered walls of Whitefire Palace.

Mare gathers this as she crouches in a random bathroom on the second floor at two thirty three in the morning. But she'd grown up in much shabbier conditions so the sound of tiny feet pattering against wood is actually comforting.

Much more comforting than loud ticking of her watch.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip so hard it almost draws blood, Mare glances down at the expensive accessory for the tenth time in half as many minutes. Her heart hammers inside her chest as she realizes the little hand is finally resting on the seven.

This is it. The moment of truth.

She feels like her chest might explode at any moment. With a measured breath, she lifts the white stick off the counter and stares at the small word etched on its surface. She's immediately overcome with paralyzing **fear.**

"No, no, no," she murmurs to herself, rocking on the cold floor. Tears prick her eyes but she pushes them away. "I can't be pregnant."

But one bottle of water and three tests later, it's confirmed that she, Mare Barrow to some, Princess Mareena Titanos to the world, has a tiny human growing inside of her.

It's a terrifying thought. She and Maven have only been married four months and they are only twenty-one. They need some time to experience married life and settle into a new routine before taking a huge step like this one. They'd never even talked about children. It had sort of been a given, with him being a prince, but she'd never truly considered it because honestly she wasn't sure the King and Queen weren't going to have her executed until the ring was on her finger.

She still has her doubts.

And then another thought comes. Maven is a prince of House Calore. His children need to come out Silver with fire wielding abilities. With a red-blooded lightning-creating mother, the chances of that happening are significantly reduced. A tear trickles down her cheek as she realizes she doesn't even know if this baby will come out alive. There could be all kind of health risks of a Red carrying a Silver's child that she has no idea about.

Suddenly, she finds it hard to breathe.

She's leaning against the door and trying to hold her impending panic attack at bay when it's jerked open and she is shoved forward. She bites back a scream and whirls around to face the intruder. The Sentinel widens his eyes in surprise at the feral look in her eyes. Mare blushes, looking down. Without even realizing it, she'd put her hand on her stomach to protect her unborn baby.

A fresh wave of tears well in her eyes. The Sentinel, Gliacos she recognizes now, shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "Your Highness," she says in a gruff voice, "Prince Maven has been looking for you. He's asked that you be escorted back to your bedchamber."

"Of course," she says in a stuffy voice, trying to hide her reddened eyes. "Let's go. I apologize for the inconvenience."

While Sentinels still scared the crap out of her, she'd learned that they tended to be less intimidating if you did things like apologize or thank them. She snorts to herself, remembering the way Elara had gaped at her when she'd uttered a thanks to a servant who'd refilled her wine glass at dinner. As if it's a crime to be grateful.

More fear slices through her. As much as she loved her royal husband, she doesn't think this is the environment she wants to raise a child in. Everyone is so cold and stilted and proper. She wants her baby to experience real love and laughter and joy, just like she had.

"Good night, Princess," Gliacos says with a brief bow and Mare realizes they've arrived at her bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, she pushes into the large space. Maven paces the length of the sitting room, his hair sticking up wildly, a sign that he'd been running his hands through it.

"Where the hell have you been?" He barks at her, "I woke up at two thirty to find you gone. Do you have any idea how worried I was? There's a reason we're accompanied by Sentinels all the time, Mare-"

"I just need some space." She says softly, and he stops his frantic pacing. He stares at her, with wide eyes and rumpled pajama pants, and waits for her to speak. "I need to tell you something important."

His eyes narrow and she can practically see the hundreds of scenarios running through his complex brain. In the four years she'd known him, Mare had only glimpsed some of her husband's astonishing intellect. It's honestly exhausting to keep a long, intelligent conversation with him, his thoughts changing quicker than any lesser person can keep up with.

"Maven, I think I'm pregnant."

To his credit, he doesn't panic right away. "What-" Maven begins, before stopping for a moment. He seems to swallow his words before continuing. "What do you mean... you think?"

His tone isn't unkind but rather a hybrid of uncertainty and confusion that she's never heard from him before. He crosses the room until his hands are gripping hers tightly and Mare feels nerves sweep through her body.

"I took tests," she confesses, "And got three positive results. We should obviously see a professional but it's unlikely that I got three false positives, right?"

When he doesn't respond, she presses on. "Answer me honestly, Maven. Do you want this baby?"

"Do you?" Maven replies instantly.

She shakes her head, frustrated. "I asked first."

"I asked second."

She groans in frustration, running her hand through her hair. She doesn't want riddles and treading around her emotions, she wants answers, she wants cold hard truths she can deal with – not lamely made promises that had no intention of being kept.

"It doesn't matter what I want-"

"Of course it does!" Maven interrupts indignantly. "I can't ask you to have this baby for me, it's your-"

But Mare inhales sharply, unable to hear the sentence's end.

"So... You want this baby?" She asks, her breath held in her chest.

Surprise flickers across Maven's handsome features. In the excitement of it all, he'd... forgotten himself.

"I..." He begins, before frowning. "Yes, no, I – Mare, I don't want to – it's still ultimately your decision-"

Maven's indecisiveness, his loss of control over his own words, spurs something warm inside Mare's chest and suddenly, the world looked less bleak than it had moments before. Maven, groomed to be the perfect gentleman from birth, had always had complete control over his rhetoric and actions. He was smooth, elegant and charming when need be. But to see him like this, stumbling over his words, makes her realize that he's just as nervous as she is. She's not alone.

"I want this baby too." She blurts out, "I just, I didn't want to ruin-"

"Ruin?" He interrupts, looking at her incredulously, "How could this ruin anything? I want this, I want us to have a baby."

"And we are having a baby," she breathes and his gaze drops to her belly.

"I'm going to be a father," he says in amazement, running his hand across the still flat skin.

"You're going to amazing." She says, without even thinking. But even as she says it, she knows it's true. The bitter, resentful boy she'd met four years had gradually been worn away to reveal the man she had married. He would be nothing but loving towards his child.

His eyes flick to hers and she realizes she's being selfish in thinking it's only she who has the right to be scared. Maven has a whole boatload of painful childhood memories that will lessen his initial excitement about becoming a father. "You will," she says firmly, "You won't be like him."

When he kisses her, she feels a stronger wave of desire than ever before. He pushes her gently onto the bed and manages to dissolve her worries with his tongue and lips and capable hands. Later, among tangling limbs and faster breaths, he chokes out, "I want a girl."

"It could be a boy," she reminds him, trailing a hand along his jaw. He looks down at her in amazement as if it hadn't even occurred to him that he could father a son.

"Thank you," is the last thing he murmurs against her lips before it all fades away and words aren't needed anymore.

 **Ok so sorry for making you guys wait a little while but I was hoping for at least fifteen reviews before I updated. They make me feel validated about my writing and motivate me to write more chapters, so please review! And if you were waiting for some more dark stuff, this is fluff but it's coming.**


	7. Chapter 7

Hi! I'm so sorry for the long wait to update. Since school started back, I've been extremely stressed and busy and this is the first time I've gotten to decompress and actually write. Also, my interest in Red Queen had waned for a bit but my motivation has returned. So, without further ado:

 **G is for Goodbye**

AU. Post RQ Series. The year is 352 of the New Era. Mare and Cal are married.

The tension had been palpable at breakfast that morning.

They'd pretended not to notice the friction in the air as they sat around the wooden table, picking idly at their toast and eggs. After a while, he'd excused himself to go work in his workshop in the backyard. She'd nodded wordlessly, feigned a smile and let him kiss her before he left.

After he'd left, she lingered for some time in the kitchen. It was probably no more than twenty minutes but it had felt like hours as she stared into her half-empty mug of coffee and tried to keep her eyes from straying to the calendar hanging from the fridge.

December 17, 352 of the New Era.

She'd celebrated her fiftieth birthday exactly one month beforehand. It should have been a jubilant occasion, all of her remaining friends and family gathered to celebrate her surviving the horrid events of her teen years and emerging as the strong woman she is today.

But she hadn't felt strong. She hadn't even felt worthy of celebrating. Instead, she'd hid in the bathroom and cried during the cake-cutting, all too aware of the blue-eyed man who would never get to reach this milestone, never be sung happy birthday by his loved ones, never celebrate his fiftieth birthday one month after hers. On December 17th, 352 of the New Era, Maven Calore should have turned fifty.

Instead, his mangled, distorted corpse lies buried six feet under in a sloppy, hastily marked grave near the Choke. She supposes his mother's body is somewhere near there too. The thought that at least they're close to each other in death brings her some comfort. But then she remembers her hand in their deaths and the overwhelming shame keeps her awake at night.

Her quiet agony had persisted through dinner, another painfully silent meal eaten at the table Cal had carved for their fifteenth anniversary three months ago. This time there's no escaping the unbearable pressure in the room as they go to get ready for bed. Cal showers quickly beforehand and then slips into bed. She goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth, doing it in half-darkness so she won't have to see her hollow eyes and the lines around her mouth.

When she emerges, Cal is already asleep and she murmurs a quiet prayer of thanks. She doesn't want him to touch her, at least not today. As soon as the thought crosses her mind, her skin runs hot with shame. Tears well in her eyes before she can help it.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, standing the middle of the room. "I'm sorry that I haven't been able to let go of him. This isn't fair to you, Cal, it really isn't. You're my husband. I know you love me. You've sacrificed so much for me your entire life. And yet, here I am, still pining for a man dead for thirty-two years now while I wear your ring on my finger. God, I'm still the same, aren't I? Same old selfish Mare."

She sniffs, a tear falling down her cheek. "But that always the difference between us, right? You've always been too good for me. You're brave and generous and compassionate. You bring light and all I've ever been good for is darkness. I'm just too damaged to love you completely. Maven was too. Maybe that's what brought us together. Maybe that's why a small part of me is still in love with him today."

The room is silent aside from Cal's light snoring and she feels so indescribably alone.

She slides underneath the covers, feeling as if the soft cotton is an enormous weight pressing down on her body. She reaches out a slim hand to touch Cal's back when a barely audible noise as her eyes flicking to the left side of the room.

Maven Calore is standing in her doorway and she wonders if she's fallen asleep.

He looks seventeen again, his blue eyes alight with the same fire, his lips quirked up slightly as he watches the bewilderment cross her face. His long, lean body is draped across the wood panel as if he belongs there. The sight threatens to tear her heart in two.

"Maven." The name leaves her lips in a choked gasp.

He smiles for real now and she feels her heartrate quicken. He moves toward her, with the same quiet, purposeful steps and he looks so real that she thinks she might be able to reach out and touch him as if he's actually there and not a figment of her imagination **.**

"Happy belated birthday," he murmurs when he's standing a mere foot away, "We would have celebrated being alive for half a century this year." He smirks, a heartbreakingly familiar sight. "What an achievement."

"What are you doing here?" She whispers, "I mean, you're not real, are you?"

He says nothing, watching her as she watches him. "You're not happy, Mare."

"No shit." She chokes out, feeling rage bubble up inside her now. "And it's all your fault. Why the hell did you make me love you, Maven? Why can't I let you go? It's been thirty-two years since you died, three whole decades. And yet you're still a ghost in my marriage, a shadow I can never seem to shake off."

Blood rushes to her cheeks as she barrels on, "You know what kind of person you've turned me into? I lied to Cal, my husband, about one of the most important things in our relationship. I told him I couldn't have kids, Maven, that whatever the hell Ptolemus Samos and those torturers did to me messed up my insides too badly. I couldn't bring myself to give my husband children because I knew that I wouldn't love them absolutely, which is what every child deserves. I can't give birth to Silver children, burner children, without wondering what they would look like with blue eyes instead of bronze. With your nose instead of his. With your intelligence and quick wit instead of his war-prowess."

"I hate you," she whispers, "Because I still love you."

She breaks off, her breathing ragged and tears on her cheeks. He's staring at her, as calm and composed as always. He looks so young that she suddenly feels ashamed of her frown lines and nearly grey hair.

"I hate it when you cry." He murmurs, eyes tracking the moisture on her cheeks. "Mare, you need to stop crying over me."

"You say like it's easy." She snaps at him. "Was it really that easy for you, Maven? To let me go? To go off into the afterlife without a single thought for the people you left behind?"

He smiles at her gently and she feels all her anger drain out of her. "It's nice up there, you know." He says, pointing up at the sky. "Heaven or whatnot. I didn't believe in any of that until I died. I was so damned sure that I was going to hell."

"Maybe it is hell actually," he muses, "To live in my perfect world and know that it's not reality. That every ounce of perfection is fabricated, a product of my own imagination."

"What's your perfect world?" She asks shakily, fearing the answer.

"I live close to the beach." He smiles dryly. "I guess in heaven I got over my aversion to water. It's not a big house, just large enough for the five of us. The furniture is worn down slightly after so many years and it's comfortable. Not pristine or expensive like the palaces of my childhood. I'm married to you, obviously. We have three children, two boys and a girl. They're five, four, and one right now. I think I reached the pinnacle of happiness when our daughter was born. I'd wanted a girl from the beginning."

"Please," she manages to get out, "No more." Her throat is burning with the need to cry. "I don't need any more what-ifs. It hurts too much."

That gentle smile is back. He reaches out and skims her cheek, the touch dancing along her wrinkled skin and making it feel smooth and youthful again. "I just wanted you to know that I'm happy. So you can be happy too."

"Even if that means letting you go?"

"Especially if it means letting me go." Maven looks pained. "I've held you down for too long. It's time for you to well and truly move on. Even if it is with my brother."

" **Goodbye** , Maven."

That night, she dreams of waves crashing on sand and pattering feet of small dark-haired and blue-eyed children. She sees Maven again, laughing as he pushes a giggling little girl in a swing.

He looks happy.

For the first time, she feels as if she can get there too.


	8. Hate

**H** is for **Hate**

 **Takes place following the events of Glass Sword. Maven and Mare have an alliance of sorts.**

It's just temporary, it's just an alliance, it's just for the good of the country.

Her excuses all run into each other, each failing to cease the extreme guilt in her chest and make her feel better about what she's doing. She'd started reciting them to herself every night before bed in an effort to make sense of her actions.

But the truth is she can't justify what she's doing. Not to her family, not to Cal, and especially not to herself. So, she settles for muttered half-truths in the dead of night and keeping her face out of sight of anyone who might make her role in the palace known.

It works, usually. Except when she's alone and it's quiet. She hates the quiet. It makes her think which is something she generally tries to avoid these days.

She's in the middle of one of these excruciating silences when the door to her chambers open and a lone figure slips through the small crack. She doesn't look up, knowing who it is and wishing he didn't elicit the small thrill in her body.

"It's over."

His voice is like a slap to the cheek. She nods once, refusing to acknowledge his accomplishment and skill in ending a century long conflict.

"And now what?" She asks, still keeping her eyes focused on the table before her.

"Now we turn our attention to the internal conflict within Norta." His voice hardens. "Namely the civil brewing within the High Houses and the rebellion amongst the Reds."

 _The Reds._ He never acknowledges that she's red, that she was a main driving force of the rebellion he's speaking of. Somehow he knows that she doesn't belong there. The same way she knows he doesn't belong in a gilded palace with a shiny crown on his hand and flames dancing at his fingertips.

"You have to do as promised." She looks up at him now. He's not wearing his father's crown and he looks so much like the boy she once knew that her heart hurts. "The whole reason we started …whatever this is…was so that we could help this country. Ending the Lakelander conflict was just one step. Now, you have to help _my_ people."

"I told you." Maven's smile is almost feline. "I'm a man of my word."

His words conjure images of a battleground and bloodshed and excruciating pain that burn so bright she has to close her eyes. When she opens them, he's standing much closer and wearing a serious look on his face. "I will help." He promises solemnly. "Not just for Norta. For you, and for Thomas."

She trusts him, instinctively, even though it has never done her any good. "Thank you." She murmurs, ignoring the way her skin heats as he places one hand on her cheek.

His hand lands on the curve of her waist, where the material of her shirt rides up a tiny bit to expose a strip of bare skin. It exudes a gentle heat, enough to warm her frozen limbs and breathe some life into her cold body.

He looms over her, his proximity doing strange things to her heart. "We shouldn't do this," she whispers even as her body comes alive beneath his touch.

He smirks cruelly. "Keep telling yourself that, Mare. One day you'll believe it."

Her eyes fly open and she grips his wrist so hard her nails dig into his skin. "I **hate** you," she hisses and the sincerity of her words ring clear.

His words match hers in conviction. "I hate you too."

And then he's kissing her, hips pressing against hers, forcing his way into her mouth. Their collision is not graceful nor is it gentle. Instead, they're a mess of clashing lips and teeth and tongues until he has her up against the wall and her legs are wrapped around his waist.

She hates the way her body shudders when he lifts her shirt over her head and touches her oh so gently in the places she longs for. She hates the pleasure she feels when he's inside of her and hates the way he says her name like it's salvation when he finishes.

But most of all, she hates the way her heart aches when he carries her to the bed and sets her carefully on the sheets. Because she knows he'll be gone soon enough, he never stays the night, and her body will still be craving his touch.

Tonight, the Lakelands and Norta made peace for the first time in one hundred and five years. Tomorrow, they will begin work on fixing a fractured country and ending years of segregation and harsh treatment.

She doesn't know how many more nights they'll share. So tonight, she grips his arm and pulls him down onto the mattress next to her.

"You know they won't let you live." She speaks a while later, after their breathing has slowed and the sweat has dried on their bodies. "The Reds, the Silvers, everyone. Even if you do end the rebellion and bring back peace, Cal will still be alive. He will tell everyone the truth about how you came to power. No one will accept a king who built his throne on bloodshed and lies. And then he will hunt you and he won't stop until you're six feet under."

"And I suppose you'll help him?" His tone is defeated. "Whisper in his ear about all of my weaknesses that you've surely discovered in the last few months? Stand by his side and recount the night my father died to the masses?"

"And then I guess I'll marry him. Become a dutiful wife to the perfect prince."

His laugh is bitter. "Living out your life with the oh-so-righteous Cal. That sounds more like a prison than anything I've done to you."

"Shut up." But it's hard to inject real anger into her voice when she hasn't seen the man in question or felt his touch for almost six months.

"My brother sees the world in black and white, Mare. Either you're good or you're evil. There's no in between. He doesn't understand how you can be both selfish and selfless. He doesn't understand that all the bitterness and destruction is a cover for how wretched and lonely you are on the inside. He doesn't know your pain. He doesn't understand how you can love a monster."

She stiffens. "When have I ever told you I love you?"

"But you do don't you?" He shifts so that she's pressed against his side, his hand spanning her rib cage.

"Yes." She admits, kissing his shoulder and resting her head on his chest, "And that's the part I hate most of all."

 **Author's Note:** I **know their relationship is wrong** and screwed up but then again, so are Maven and Mare. If you don't like, don't **read. But I really hope you** **guys** **enjoy this and please review!**

 **P.S. If I had to explain the alliance, I would say that since Maven doesn't really want to persecute thousands of Reds and Mare doesn't really want a country-wide war against Maven, they've teamed up to end the rebellion peacefully. Maven is hinted as being a political genius in the books and I wanted to see one of his positive character traits in action for once.**


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